An Emperor's Vengeance
by TheAlphaAI
Summary: This is a story of vengeance. When former runner Tandan Emperor's friend is found murdered, he is determined to have his revenge. He confronts the NYC Mafia, and kills lotsa people. Book 3 in the Runs Gone South Cycle. Book 1, 2, 4 and 5 not out yet.
1. Guide To 'An Emperor's Vengeance' READ

**Guide To 'An Emperor's Vengeance'**

An Emperor's Vengeance is a fan fiction story for Shadowrun, and the story itself starts in Chapter 1. PLEASE don't leave, and either go straight to the first chapter or lose interest entirely. I promise that it is one of the best stories I have ever writen, so give it a try.

I'm not quite sure how long I'll make it, but I've mapped out the entire storyline, and for those of you who have read the 2000 word summary I posted for about two weeks, please don't ruin it for others.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun is copyright of Catalyst Game Labs, and this work of fiction may not be published or reproduced anywhere outside of the Fanfiction database without the express permission of both the author and the aforementioned Catalyst Game Labs group.

For those of you who aren't terribly familiar with Shadowrun trivia, I've compiled here a glossary of terms which can be found in an Emperor's Vengeance. While this may seem to be a bit short, I'll add to this as I go. Make sure you check this page each time a new chapter comes out for some extra vocab.

Dandelion eater/ keeb: noun, a derogatory term for an elf

Mr/ Mrs Johnson: noun, a name often adopted by a person who hires shadowrunners. This term can differ depending on the location of the Johnson. For example, French Johnsons are known as 'Monsiuer Dupont.'

Cleaner/Kick artist: noun, assassin

Spider: noun, security rigger

So ka: Japanese, I get it, I understand

Gaijin: noun, Japanese, foreigner, anyone not local or out of their element

Halfer/ stuntie/ squat: noun, derogatory term for a dwarf

Fraggin': A swear word, similar to modern-day 'freakin' eg. Fraggin hell, I tripped over

Glitched: Messed up, drunk

Mercury Comet: A sedan or 4WD

Trid/trideo: The TV of 2070

PAN: Personal Area Network

These are what the names some of the runners mean:

Spider: noun, security rigger, Harrison Gellar is called this for obvious reasons

So ka: Japanese, I get it, I understand, and the shadowrunner So Ka is named as such because she is a linguist

White hat: noun, security hacker

Penguin: Tandan Emperor is nicknamed this because of his name.

Maxwell: This is just a name, and has no special meaning

Also, when the text is in _italics_ it is from the shadowrunner's POV. When it is normal, it is Tandan Emperor's POV. When the text is **bold** it is in Harrison Gellar's POV.

That's about it, for now, so without further ado, please read 'An Emperor's Vengeance'.


	2. Chapter I: Gel Rounds

**Chapter I: Gel Rounds**

**Gellar had always been smart. But hell, he'd never known his illustrious career as a rigger would take him to Lone Star, of all places. He'd wanted to be a runner, just like the ones on the trid. And for two long years, he had lived this childhood dream. Just the five of them: Penguin, White Hat, Trog, Maxwell and he: Spider, as the shadows had affectionately known them as. Then, a run went south, and only three of them had made it out alive. Maxwell was on the run from the New York City Mafia, although Penguin and himself had managed to fake their deaths quite convincingly.**

**Penguin was his best friend, and had been since he had been recruited. Two and a half years ago. He sighed. Once a newcomer to the shadows, he had quickly hardened with the death of his mother, and then, wham. He'd had to readjust to the timid life of a Lone Star security rigger. Yep, he thought, it had been a weird life.**

**He unplugged himself from his PAN, and started the long journey down the four flights of stairs to get to his van. Near the entrance to the carpark, he whistled for his Doberman drone. Weird, he thought. Somebody had left the door open. His heavy duty metal buddy appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and was immediately blasted to scrap by a vicious hail of gunfire, from more than one assault rifle. There were enemies in the fraggin' carpark! Shit, nowhere was safe anymore. As soon as he got out of here, he would have to tell Tandan that their cover was blown. The problem was; he still had to get out alive.**

**He drew his machine pistol: a Ceska Black Scorpion. He kept it trained on the stairwell, as he silently descended. He signalled from some backup from a rotor drone, and lobbed a Lone Star iBall drone out through the open door, which was left unmolested. The state of the art camera was aimed straight at the ground, but before he could rotate it to see the full area, it was picked up by an unseen meta hand. He threw out another two, but they were only backup in case his original iBall was destroyed.**

**He was greeted immediately by a shortish, stocky ork.**

"**How ya doin, 'arrison Gellar," the ork said in a Noo Yawk accent. "Da NYC Mawfia don't like people pullin' out on dem in da middle ovva run. We lawst a couple good men out deh. So now, you and yor buddeh Maxwell are gonna fraggin' die. We brought you both tuhgether for one lahst show. Come on down 'ere, Spider. Or are ya scared?"**

**Gellar rotated the iBall to see the beaten form of his old friend and partner Maxwell, bound by containment manacles to his own nearly destroyed van. Unfortunately, the Mafia thugs had made sure that all the weapons were disabled. Fortunately, Maxwell was an accomplished escape artist. He could get free at any time he wanted.**

"**Don't worry about me! You know I'll be fine. Save yourself," yelled the human from his position on the cold concrete floor. What sounded to the Mafia thugs like corny, clichéd words of bravery and self-sacrifice were actually confirmation of a potential escape plan for both of them. Gellar put two and two together: they needed a distraction.**

**Harrison Gellar activated the smoke grenade function inside each of his three iBalls, and ran back up the steps. In the carpark, as the tear gas erupted from the iBalls, Maxwell worked his hands free of the containment manacles, and fled into the shadows.**

**Spider panted as he ran, tearting open his apartment door. He heard several pursuers following him, and set two of his rotor drones on guard duty. They would buy him some time. He gathered a suitcase of clothes, supplies and other assorted objects and tools he'd need to survive. Then, adrenaline pumping through his veins, he punched out his glass window and hurled himself out into the night.**

_The halfer, as expected, took the coward's way out, and tried to escape by jumping. The idiot hoped his cybernetic legs would absorb the impact. The runner was surprised, when the concrete of the road cracked. They must have been very good quality, he thought. But no matter, as he rushed forward with his assault rifle, and the former SWAT team leader unloaded a clip into his chest and head. Only gel rounds, though. He briskly strode forward, and snipped a lock of the dwarf's blonde hair, letting the assault rifle hang in his off hand. He harvested the DNA, and sent the sample to his employer, dumping the unconscious man in the passenger seat of his Mercury Comet. The powerful engine whirred as his Johnson spoke._

"_That's the right one. Finish him."_

"_Okay. Sixteen thousand nuyen, right?"_

"_Just top the fraggin' stuntie, then we'll talk business. I don't want to hear from you until you've completed your task."_

"_Yep. Over and out, boss."_

_The runner set the GPS and drove manually through the streets of New York City. He stopped at the middle of the Freerunner's Bridge. Partly due to the remote location of the bridge and partly due to the late hour, the bridge was deserted. He snickered to himself as he reached across to the target's body. A little poetic justice, he thought, to shoot the rigger with his own gun. One round, and the pulse died, along with the target._

_The runner searched the man's pockets, and came up with nothing valuable, but a nice wallet caught his eye. It bore a small metal plate with the name of its previous owner, but was worth more money than he could care to spend on a wallet. He swapped his cards across and pocketed his loot. Impartially, he hefted the rigger aloft, and the corpse plunged to the river below._


	3. Chapter II: Cold

**Chapter II: Cold**

Tandan Emperor stood over his friend's cold body. Cold, because of the water of the filthy river. Cold, because that's how he'd always been. And cold because of the death that must have taken him mere hours ago. He forced back tears. Harrison Gellar would have taunted him for such weakness. He could just imagine that smirk. Get over it, you soppy little keeb, he'd say, even though he had always been younger than Tandan. Get over it. But he knew he never would.

Emperor rubbed his hand through his jet black hair and sighed sadly. He had always admired Gellar. He had mentored the kid, and taught him how to use that machine pistol. A cruel irony, though, that the Ceska Black Scorpion had been the firearm which ended his life. Tandan was sick to stomach of all this killing. The shadows were ruthless, they'd all known it from the start. White Hat, Trog, Widow and finally Harrison Gellar. The world of a runner had crushed the Spider underfoot,

"Are you done, Emperor? We'd like to take the body for post mortem, see if we can dig anything up about who killed your partner."

"Uh... yeah," Tandan said distractedly. "Hey, man..." Lone Star Sergeant John Crauw looked up, willing to here whatever his subordinate had to say. "Take care of him," Emperor said. Crauw nodded, grimacing.

"We take care of all our personnel. Even the ones who are... no longer with us. That includes you, buddy. Sergeant Crauw clapped him on the back. The grief counsellor'll be 'round your place tomorrow. Keep it together. We'll need your help to find the bastards who did this."

_The NY Mafia had killed the wrong culprit. The shadowrunner smiled cruelly as he played back the last scenes of this man's life on his commlink. The Mafia spy had been accused of hiring a runner to kill Harrison Gellar, which he had been innocent of. What the spy had been guilty of was supplying a shadowrunner with information, a crime which the New York Mafia punished with a savage beating, demotion, defaming and fines, but not death. _

_But the Mafia had good reason to lash out. Several members had had their houses searched and many mafia-owned businesses were witnessing a lack of income due to the media speculations about the Lone Star- employed rigger's death. On top of that, Lone Star were now twice as strict on all the mafia's less-than-savoury dealings. Two of their drug warehouses had been seized over the past month, since the rigger's killing._

_The spy had recorded his last few minutes on his commlink in the hope that somebody would find it and charge his killers. The runner smirked. His old contact had been a bit of a hassle, and expected gross sums of money for even the smallest tidbit of information._

_The recording was an incriminating piece of evidence, and would be worth quite a lot to the right buyer. Watching the recording told him that. It told the listener the arrangements of the next major drug shipment. That information alone was worth thousands of nuyen. He decided that he would sell the commlink to his old bartender. He'd make a use for it. _

_However, had he examined the commlink with a more professional eye, he would have noticed the other sound recording. The one which revealed the identity of the Johnson who had ordered and paid for the death of Harrison Gellar._

_He strolled into the _Baritone Bronco_, his favourite club, and sidled up to the bar._

"_Hey, Freddy!" he called. The muscular African American was talking quietly with a man across the other side of the room, but upon seeing the runner, broke off the conversation immediately and hastened over to him._

"_Haven't seen you in a while, my man," the bartender greeted casually. _

"_Wednesday feels like so long ago, huh?" he said to the bartender, who laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder._

"_You still cruisin' with the NYC Mafia?"_

"_Aren't_ you_ the one who gives _me_ information?"_

"_What you drinkin'?"_

"_Champagne wid two and a half slices o' orange. None o' dat manufactured crap, I want the real shit this time, 'kay?" The runner leaned in closer, and whispered in the bartender's ear. "I've got a commlink from a dead Mafia member. It has the details for the next NYC drug shipment. It's a big one. You interested?"_

"_I tell you what. I give you two thousand nuyen." The runner laughed raucously, turning a few heads. He knew exactly how to play it with this guy._

"_How about you give me three thousand, and crack open your best bottle of champagne. For me. Free of charge. Plus, you can milk the info, plant some empty details, and sell it on to somebody else." The bartender looked amused, and wasn't hooked, so he added, "Unless the street value of an entire Mafia drug shipment just plummeted. Hmm?"_

"_One 1993 bottle of Sauvignon Blanc comin' right up, friend."_

_The shadowrunner smiled and slid the commlink across the bar with his elbow. The bartender popped the cork, and as he went to pour a glass, the runner stopped him. He gripped the bottle, took a deep breath, and drank._

Tandan Emperor paced across the interview room, glancing at the smug bartender in the chair before him.

"Pick your words carefully, you could be charged with preventing the course of justice, and I can make it _very_ hard for the _Baritone Bronco_ to function."

"I got nothin' to hide, man," the bartender said, laughing.

"We're investigating charges of murder, conspiracy and organised homicide. Do you really want to be caught up in this?"

"No way man. All I wanna do is tend my bar. I ain't done nothin' wrong, and you got nothin' on me," he said, obviously pleased with himself, while his lawyer nodded confidently. Tandan also smiled.

"I have the power to detain you without reason for two weeks. You not going anywhere 'till I get some answers. Talk." The bartender and his crumby lawyer whispered between each other for a few seconds, before the suit spoke.

"My client is willing to answer your questions."

"How well did you know the man who sold you this commlink? For the benefit of the sound recording, I am showing the suspect exhibit 17-T."

"Barely knew 'im at all. Seen 'im once or twice, but my bar gets _real busy,_" he said, patronisingly. Tandan didn't rise to the bait. He wasn't going to stuff this interview up. If this guy was preventing the course of justice, withholding information, then Emperor would see him smacked with a hefty fine.

"Then why did you open a very valuable bottle of champagne for him when he sold you this commlink?"

"I was feelin' good."

"Describe his drinking for me." The bartender smiled, now on a subject he felt comfortable talking about. Which, hopefully would mean he would talk about it a lot more than necessary, and give Tandan something to prosecute him with.

"He had _class,_ man. I went to open the bottle. Real nice bottle too, 1993, Sauvignon Blanc, almost 100 years old, and I can _tell,_ man, I can _read_ people's emotions when they're drinkin', He wanted something special. Somethin' better n' the usual. No regular champagne for my man tonight, no, no, no. He grab that bottle, tip it up, and drink damn near half that baby in one go."

Tandan grinned.

"So you've lied to me then." The bartender looked confused.

"You previously said that you've only seen this man once or twice, get you described him as 'my man.' A bit endearing for somebody who isn't a regular, wouldn't you say? But _no,_ you lied again! He is a regular, isn't he sir? He _usually_ has champagne, you said. So tell us what you know about this runner."

"I don't want no trouble. I never seen this guy before. I never been on a run with him, he rides solo man," the bartender said, raising his voice, digging himself in deeper.

"What race and metatype is he?" The bartender regained his composure with help from his worried lawyer.

"Never seen his face."

"So he is a regular, a friend. But you've never seen his face." The bartender didn't answer, running his hands through his long hair. "Sergeant Crauw, please read to the suspect the list of charges you think we can nail him with."

"Preventing the course of justice, assisting a known murderer to stay at large,-"

The bartender nearly wet himself.

"How long do you think he'll go down for, Sergeant?"

"Two years, maybe, plus a fine," Crauw said with a shrug. Tandan Emperor leaned in close to the bartender, smiling evilly.

"So, the choice is yours. Arrange a meeting with him, or cop the charges. Either way, I win."


	4. Chapter III: Stakeout

**Chapter III: Stakeout**

The bar was choc-full of patrons. The bartender was talking to one of them. This man happened to be Tandan Emperor. Emperor was in civilian clothes, and his Ares Viper Slivergun was somewhere in the folds of his jacket.

"How do I know what to say? Shit man, I'm nervous."

"All you have to do is keep him talking. Then just give him something to drink, give us the signal, which is coughing, and four of our officers will approach from behind him. You step a few metres back from him, pull out your own gun, stick it in his face, and we arrest him. Simple." He plunged his arm inside his overcoat, and gripped the pistol for comfort. That was when a shadowrunner entered at the door.

"Hey, my man! How you doin'?" The runner strolled up to the bar. He ordered a bottle of champagne. The bartender handed him a bottle and let loose a raucous coughing fit. He stepped back as four Lone Star Officers approached, guns drawn. One had a badge showing. Then, the bartender pulled out a shotgun. The runner stepped to the side and threw the bottle at the nearest officer. I saw the large lower canines; he was an ork. The bartender betrayed us without a second of thought.

He shot the Officer with the badge, Henry Grier. Grier had become Tandan's friend while he worked at Lone Star. The bartender ducked underneath the bar, and the two remaining Lone Star Officers opened fire on the runner's chest. He must have been kitted out with an armour vest, because he just pulled out two Uzis, bullets penetrating the civilian clothing of the Lone Star Officers long after the two men were dead. He vaulted over the bar, and caught the bartender in a headlock.

"Help, my man. He's got me!" The runner threw something over the bar. By now, the entire room was empty. Instead of a grenade, he had lobbed a latex face mask and a set of fake canines. We now had no positive ID on the runner. And four good men were lost. I heard the shadowrunner's footsteps as he fled the scene.

Emperor kicked the bartender in the face.

"You're goin' down, you asshole," Tandan said, pointing his finger accusingly.

"Send me to jail, man. My buddy runner'll just break me right back out."

"You misunderstand. Preventing the course of justice, fraud, aiding a known murderer to stay at large, those'll see you in jail for a while. But you just murdered a man. That warrants a death sentence."

He brandished his knife and stabbed the bartender cruelly, in the ribcage. It would be a painful end. He Slowly, the his eyes faded, and then, with a final death rattle, he was gone.

Tandan Emperor was alone. He immediately realised that the runner might be setting a trap outside the bar, so switched the view on his contact lenses to thermal imaging. Instead of seeing the runner, he saw something better. Henry Grier was still alive!

He leapt over the bar, calling a paramedic service on his commlink. He reached into his old knowledge as a shadowrunning medic. He pried each bullet from their positions and stemmed the blood flow. The shotgun blast had been strong, but Grier, against orders, had been wearing subtle leather padding underneath his civvies. The bullets still penetrated, but the wounds were not deep. Still, lack of medical attention meant that his life still hung in the balance.

He checked the other three men for vital signs, but two had been shot to shit by the runner's Uzis, and one had died immediately from the impact of the champagne bottle on his temple. Two paramedics rushed in the door, and while one resuscitated Henry Grier, the other spoke to Tandan.

"Officer, our ambulances are full. If he has any hope of survival, _you_ have to drive him to the hospital."

Tandan nodded and helped the other paramedic with a stretcher. In moments, Grier was in the back seat of Emperor's Chrysler-Nissan Patrol-1. He blared the siren and floored it, knocking a nice limousine out of the way. The dent in the patrol car was worth the look on the driver's face.

He saw the ambulance ahead of him. Then, he saw the missile arcing through the air towards the ambulance. Then the ambulance was gone in a huge ball of fire. He sped right past the charred wreckage, expecting a similar fate. But Tandan arrived safely at the hospital.

Henry Grier returned to active service two weeks later.

***

_The runner laughed as he saw the fruits of his labour. The ambulance, probably carrying the dying bartender exploded. He knew that Penguin would never carry Freddy in his own vehicle. Now, he knew, the bartender was definitely dead, either slaughtered by Penguin, or pulverised in that fireball._

_He received the call from his Johnson._

"_Are you ready for your next target?" the Johnson said._

"_Hell yeah, Mrs Johnson."_

"_Bring me the head of former shadowrunner Penguin." The runner smiled wickedly._

"_Too easy."_

"_Within ten days, or I'll halve your payment."_

"_What _is _my payment?"_

"_Fourteen thousand."_

"_And seven thousand if it happens after ten days."_

"_No. Twenty-eight thousand nuyen if you kill him within ten days."_

_The runner smiled. He didn't need the full twenty-eight thousand. He would carefully structure his assault on Lone Star. He had plenty of time to plan his stakeout._


	5. Chapter IV: To Catch A Johnson

**Chapter IV: To Catch A Johnson…**

"Yes, I commissioned the hit. Yes, those were my thugs. Yes, I hired the runner. I was behind the murder of Harrison Gellar. What are going to do about it?" said Mrs Johnson.

"Somebody will find out. Somebody will hunt you _down_ and-"

A pistol discharged loudly.

The sound recording ended.

Tandan Emperor played the words back in his mind over and over again. Then he fired a single shot down the target range. In hit the target just a few centimetres left of the bullseye, his trusty Slivergun guided by the smartgun system installed. He reloaded his weapon. Tandan knew he had to don his Lone Star uniform, but felt the call of his old armour jacket. He wanted to strap his old Fichetti Security 600 to his thigh, but decided to stick with the correct protocol. Fraggin' hell, he hated Lone Star.

"Tandan, I want you to lead the raid into the apartment. We have snipers in the buildings and I will monitor the situation with another Officer from my patrol car. You will take eight men and _all_ of them will come out alive. Just bring me this Johnson, dead or alive."

"Rules of engagement, Sergeant Crauw?" I asked.

"Any drones, bodyguards or weapons she might have to guard her are all dispensable. Don't be destructive, but if somebody points a gun at you, don't hesitate to kill them. Be aware, we have reason to believe that she is a competent drone rigger."

"Everyone ready?" Emperor subvocalised. Each of his men responded to the affirmative, and the team quietly ascended the steps to the apartment of Mrs Johnson. A rotor drone immediately hummed down the flight of stairs above them, patrolling. Emperor motioned for his men to stay back. He laid his assault rifle on the ground as he brandished his survival knife with his right hand. As the drone came into view, Tandan Emperor forced it to the ground with his knife, and finished it with his Slivergun. They had lost the element of surprise. He sheathed his knife and motioned for one of his men to cut through the door with a monofilament chainsaw.

"You _are_ the very face of subtlety, Officer." The voice came from an old intercom system near the door, and made Tandan jump in surprise. He again made use of his knife, and tore it out of the wall.

"Fan out, men," Emperor subvocalised, and three pairs of soldiers came back with a clear verdict through the commlink system. The fourth pair reported differently.

"I have a secure blast door, should I set some explosives on it?"

"Yes. Give me the detonator. I'll take point." The Lone Star Officers ducked around the corner and Tandan activated the detonator. He rushed forward, but an Ingram White Knight ripped through the wall beside him, bullets barely missing Tandan. Then, as the woman came into view, a click. The gun was dry.

Mrs Johnson took one look at Tandan and leapt out the open window. Emperor ran to the window, seeing her already near a car, which she must have previously set up for escape. She must have had cybernetic legs with powerful shock absorbers to survive the fall without significant injury. Just like Gellar had.

A sniper in the opposite block of flats leaned out the window, but before he could line up a single shot, four rotor drones descended on him. He and his partner were dead in moments, and a Doberman drone made its presence known as it loosed the bullets of an Ingram White Knight at Tandan. He ducked out of view, and told his men to fall back, alerting the Lone Star teams on the ground.

She would escape. Tandan cursed, his chance lost. Then a Lone Star cruiser careered around the corner, smashing into a dumpster. One officer got out the passenger seat, but the Doberman mowed him down. Tandan then saw Sergeant Crauw step out of the vehicle long enough to hurl a single grenade. The Doberman was destroyed before it could fire a single round. But the Johnson was coming back, eager to avenge her drone.

Tandan looked around the room for a weapon. His assault rifle couldn't destroy a car, so he needed something heavier. He tore open a closet, and immediately smiled. It was time to blow something up.

Tandan carefully aimed his weapon, and fired. One round from almost any gun would fail to take down a vehicle. But this was no mere gun. With an almighty roar, the rocket emerged from Tandan's Aztechnology Striker: a missile launcher. Mrs Johnson was killed instantly in the inferno, and her drone clanked uselessly to the ground. He dropped the bulky weapon to the floor of the apartment. He looked around the panorama in an absent minded manner. A man wearing a brown coat and a balaclava stood in the window.

Their eyes locked, and as Tandan fumbled for his pistol, the man lifted a sniper rifle, looking professionally down the sight. Tandan threw himself to the ground. When he summoned up the courage to stand and aim his weapon at the apartment block, there was no trace of the man. He had a terrible feeling that he had won the battle, but not yet the war. Harrison Gellar could not rest in peace. Tandan Emperor had more work to do.

***

_The runner saw his Johnson die. No matter. The Mafia would still pay him for Penguin's death. He aimed at the Officer in Mrs Johnson's flat, but did not shoot. He would save his bullets for the grand finale. Once he had infiltrated the Lone Star station, he would torture the Sergeant to find Penguin. He would make that Lone Star beat cop scream like a five year old. Then, he would do what he had always done. Kill._


	6. Chapter V: Believe Me

**Chapter V: Believe Me**

"Here's the deal," said Sergeant Crauw. "An anonymous man with New York accent has called us telling us that he has new evidence on the Gellar case. He has decided to come into an interview, but has requested that the room be secured with blast doors. He will identify himself by purchasing three Lone Star uniforms, obviously not available to the general public. He will use a certified credstick. You will pose as the receptionist. You will stand outside the door with a direct camera feed inside the interview room. I think you need to hear any new evidence first hand. He says he knows where to find the actual killer."

Sergeant Crauw shook Tandan's hand.

***

_The shadowrunner walked into the Lone Star station. He asked to purchase three Lone Star uniforms from the receptionist, just as planned, and would soon find Penguin, just as planned. He pulled out his wallet and handed the receptionist a credstick. He adjusted his green tie, and the receptionist motioned for him to move through. The Lone Star Sergeant greeted him with a loose smile and a firm hand shake. That was the last thing the runner ever saw._

***

"What the fraggin' hell, Emperor, we just lost our last lead to the runner who killed Harrison! You idiot!" Tandan Emperor stood over the man's body, his pistol still warm.

"That _was_ the runner who killed Harrison Gellar," Emperor said calmly.

"How could you possibly know it was him?" said the Sergeant, still in a rage. "For all you know, he could have been genuine!" People started coming out of the offices, to see what the commotion was all about. Tandan Emperor reached inside the dead man's back pocket. He pulled out a single item and tossed it to Lone Star Sergeant Crauw.

"Believe me," he said. "I'd know that wallet anywhere."

**End**


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